The Twilight Zone for Witchcraft & Wizardry
by Jessa L'Rynn
Summary: What happens when canon and chaos collide? These stories. A series of one shots with at least one bewildered character: the one who's supposed to be there. This week's episode: Snape!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The stories you are about to read are silly. The names have been left exactly as they are known to be to ensure that the people being mocked can tell that they are being mocked. Because sometimes you have to prod them with something more than soft cushions before they catch on. These characters belong to JK Rowling. The situations they find themselves in are the creations of various fan fiction writers. I admit to being a fan fiction writer – but not this kind.**

Your suggestions can be emailed or posted in your reviews.

_You are traveling to another dimension, a dimension not only of magic and of wizardry but of bafflement. That's a signpost up ahead. Next stop? The Twilight Zone for Witchcraft & Wizardry…_


	2. Episode 1

Chapter 1:

_Submitted for your perusal: One Hermione Granger, witch. Aged 17, height 5 ft 4 inches. Gryffindor with a Ravenclaw mind, and friend to Harry Potter. Hermione's life as a witch has been marked by one fact: she was born to a pair of Muggle dentists. But, thanks to the anti-miracle of fan fiction, her truth is about to change..._

* * *

"Hermione, please, sit down."

Hermione gazed, worried, into her parents' faces, surprised to find the same expression of fed-up exhaustion in both their eyes. She had been sure, before, that the very next time they ended up talking with her seriously, it would be because they found out about the war. But this seemed, somehow, stranger. A cold chill ran up her spine. Somehow, she just knew that whatever they had to say, it would surely change her whole world.

Her mother sat pale and regal in the blue wing-backed armchair, her dress severe and her face completely exasperated. Her father stood, towering over her, and his expression was too distant to be called haughty, though that was rather close to it.

"What's wrong?" she said. "Has something happened?"

"Several things," said her father. "But some of them were a very long time ago." He frowned. "Look, I don't know how to say this, but Hermione, your whole life is not what you think it is."

"What?" she whispered.

Her mother rolled her eyes. "You're adopted, Hermione," she said, firmly.

She gaped at them, as poleaxed as if she'd been struck by lightning. She knew, suddenly and terribly, what Harry had felt to be told the Prophecy. It didn't just change her life - it changed the very definition of every single breath she had ever taken. She couldn't breathe - her lungs wouldn't draw air, because they weren't HER lungs - they belonged to Hermione Granger and she was... "Who?" she choked out, at last.

"You're the daughter of a proper Pure-blood witch and wizard, of course," said her father calmly, sounding so exactly like Lucius Malfoy that Hermione wondered that he hadn't gone spouting pure-blood propaganda all her entire life.

"But..." she said, and stopped. What could she possibly say?

"You don't honestly think some common muggles would come up with a proper name like Hermione, do you?"

"Um. You're muggles," she reminded them, breathlessly.

Her mother snorted delicately. "Hardly, child. It's taken all of our considerable power to keep your accidental magic from blowing up this corner of the world. You're one of the most powerful witches ever, of course."

"I was saying to my old friend Rastaban just the other day," said her father. "Just because she can't conjure a patronus under pressure doesn't mean her patronus isn't the strongest one around."

Hermione stared at them one more second, then sharply, decisively drew her wand. "You're not my parents!" she shrieked. "What have you done with them? You're not my PARENTS!"

Her mother polished her nails on the front of her blazer, then inspected them carefully. "We've already mentioned that, child. Your parents are dead, of course."

"Who are you?" she hissed.

"Eyn and Dianthus Granger, as always, of course," said her father with a tired, bored sort of smile.

"I meant to mention that," she said. "Couldn't you just have spelled it 'Anne' like a normal person?"

"Well, it seems growing up as a filthy little mudblood has certainly warped your outlook. No matter."

"What now?"

"Well, we've decided to put your phenomenal mind to absolutely no use whatsoever. We'll be marrying you off in a stylized and ritualistic fashion that couldn't possibly exist in a society that had ditched the Spanish Inquisition. This will rob your brain of the power to think, of course, but you'll make an excellent sex kitten to the first man to think of conditioner."

"Or we could marry her to Severus," suggested her mother. "His hair is so positively ghastly, he couldn't possibly say anything about Hermione's."

"Or that charming Malfoy boy. After all, he's only already an accessory to murder, and he hates her. They should get along famously now that everything's changed."

"How about Blaise Zabini? She's never talked to him and doesn't know anything about him."

"True. But he is notoriously picky, and Hermione is notoriously a bookworm."

"Well, a little makeover might be the order of the day."

"Jolly good idea," said her father, and whipped out a wand that moved so fast she had barely had time to notice it was drawn before she saw that it wasn't there any more.

"Excellent. Now she looks like a fashionable muggle girl, which is of course what ALL the proper, pureblood, muggle-hating bigots are expecting for their daughters these days."

"So that's settled then. We'll be marrying you to Blaise Zabini. Are you happy?"

Hermione sighed. "Well, it's not Snape," she muttered. "Why are you doing this?"

"We're tired of hiding, Hermione."

"Yes, the whole Dental thing just doesn't pay what it should, being in Britain and everything."

"Truly. If we were going to hide from the Dark Lord by pretending to be muggles, we should've gone to America. Did you know they're so obsessed with their appearances over there that they'll pay to have someone chemically strip their teeth of all the protection nature designed for them, and painfully apply some different protection?"

"Well, that is daft," Hermione agreed, shakily.

Dianthus nodded. "I knew you'd understand. Didn't I tell you Hermione'd understand, darling? After all, she's only been staying with the Weasleys for the past three summers - they can't have infected her completely yet."

"I see what you mean." Eyn smiled a beautific smile, like one sees on the cover of magazines that sell home chemicals for doing your teeth as they'd been discussing. "Hermione, we've decided to give up and become Death Eaters. We haven't talked to our friends in years."

"Yes, the neurotic, rich, prudish, ultra-conservative set does throw some of the most amazing debaucles."

Dianthus patted the seat next to him. Hermione ignored that. "You mustn't believe everything you hear in Gryffindor-land. These people couldn't perform so-called 'Dark Revels'. Most of them get physically ill if a muggle looks at them."

Hermione looked down at her ridiculous new shoes, hitched up her sudden skirt and said, "Right, you're nuts. I'm off."

She stormed out the front door, and crockery blew up as she went.

Dianthus looked at Eyn. "That didn't go over well did it?" he said.

"No, I should say not," said Eyn.

"I told you you should have spelled it 'Anne'."

At the corner, Hermione held out her wand arm.

A violently purple double-decker bus exploded into existence on the street in front of her. Hermione, angry, startled, and on bad shoes, very nearly fell off of them, and was sure she had twisted her ankle.

A tall, red haired boy with too many freckles got off the bus. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, Emergency Transportation for the stranded witch or wizard. I'm Ron Weasley, your conductor for this eve…" Ron stopped and gaped at her, while she gaped back, thinking that purple clashed worse with Weasley hair than magenta did. "Wha choo doin'?"

Hermione was leaning over massaging her ankle and trying to get out of the ridiculous shoes. She hadn't actually worn shoes with heels in her entire life, since most of her time was spent in school uniform and even the older girls wore sensible flats with their robes, or more comfortable wizard shoes with charms on them. "Where did you get that accent, Ron? You sound ridiculous."

"Came wif the job, didn't it," he said. "They 'adda replace Stan wif someone, an' I kin do wif a few galleons, if I hever get to ask out the girl I like. Whoo, were you going, then?"

Hermione realized with a shock that he didn't recognize her, as he tugged her trunk on board and she followed him, her shoes in hand and her stockings running from the picks they acquired the second her feet touched the ground. She tried to figure out how to sit in the skirt on the stupid brass bedstead, and decided, finally, to stand until Ron went away.

"Have you got a mirror?" she asked in a voice Lavender Brown would have been proud of. "I need to freshen up."

Of course, as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized they were stupid. Ron would never have anything to do with personal hygiene. He had probably never carried so much as a pocket comb.

Ron dropped the accent at once and muttered in his regular voice as he rummaged through his pockets. "I simply love your hair," he told her in a voice that made him sound just like Ginny, his impetuous sister.

Hermione sighed and held up the mirror, expecting that maybe her father had straightened her hair and applied make-up.

The blonde staring back at her had wavy, luxurious curls, and it looked as though each individual strand had been dipped in sunshine gold. Her eyes had been tinted a moody blue, and they seemed to be turning as she looked at them. Her pert little upturned nose had been straightened and elongated, and her perfect, expensive teeth were still perfect, and expensive, but now framed by darkly painted lips. Hermione gasped. Her once golden skin was now so alabaster pale that it was shining in the moonlight through the window. She grimaced and the painted corpse in the mirror grimaced back at her.

"I look like a female Malfoy!" she exclaimed, horrified.

Ron ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Yeah, you do, kinda."

Hermione sat down hard on the bed, and Ron's eyes were locked by her legs. She pulled the sheet up to her throat. "Just kill me now," she said.


	3. Episode 2

**Episode 2:**

_Submitted for your edification: Ronald Weasley, wizard. Aged 17 years, a Gryffindor in every sense of the word, with a tenuous hold on his Quidditch Keeping skills, and a much better one on his friendship with Harry Potter. This is the central fact of Ron's life – that he is the last-born son in a family of tremendous sons, which also found room within itself for the most famous boy in the wizarding world. Today, thanks to the absolute unmiraculousness of fan fiction, that is all about to change…_

* * *

"Ronald, sit down," said Molly Weasley, her usually kind face looking stern and harsh, grim lines etched around her normally smiling mouth. Any other day, this expression was reserved for Fred and George, his older twin brothers, except the one time Ron had decided to fly the family car to school.

His father apparated into the living room beside them. Ron, rather startled by this, drew his wand and pointed it at his father. "What're you doing here?" Ron demanded. "Aren't you meant to be working too much or something?"

"This is more important, and besides I have to be here to comment pointlessly about a muggle contraption during an important discussion."

"Oh, ok," said Ron. "And that bit about apparating outside?"

"Well, that was only to be secure, but we're secure now because Harry isn't here."

Ron nodded. "Sure you are. Seen the clock, lately, mum?" He gestured at her Weasley clock with nine hands, every one of them still pointed, not to the time, but to "Mortal Peril."

"Irrelevant," his mother snapped, and gestured him to a seat. Ron sat down calmly and tapped his long fingers on his knees.

"Ron, we've decided that its time for you to break off your friendship with Harry Potter."

The wand was back in his hand before she'd finished saying Harry's name. "Um. Who're you and what've you done with that nice tiger lady who lives here?"

Arthur Weasley straightened himself to his full height. "Ronald, that is not funny. Your mother is right – you have to stop keeping company with Harry – he's got problems."

Ron's ears turned red as his hair, and he opened his mouth to start shouting at them, but Molly interrupted him. "He broke Ginny's heart, Ron, and we simply can't have that."

"Mum, Ginny's ok with it. She's a big girl, and she knows there's a war on, ok? It's not like she's some giggly 13 year old who's sole goal in life is to land her a man and make bushels of red-headed babies with him."

"What are you implying young man?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Ron replied quietly.

"Ginny's heart is broken, and as her mother, I have decided to take it out on Harry that he cares enough about my daughter to try to protect her from You-Know-Who. I have chosen, therefore to resent it, and him, and you will break off your friendship with him immediately."

"Mum, he's Harry – Bloody – Potter! He's in DANGER. Of course he was protecting Ginny."

"From being happy, maybe," said Molly. Arthur stayed as silent as always. "I expect you to use better language, Ronald."

"This is nuts. You remember Harry, Mum? Fred, George, and I flew a car to Surrey once to get him."

"I should have realized then," she said.

"He was starving, Mum. You knew he was starving, and you tried to feed him. Stupid, evil muggles were starving the Boy-Who-Lived, and you weren't having it. And remember Ginny spent the next week sticking her arm in the butter and crying about him, because he didn't immediately propose to her, remember? And even though she sent him that stupid Valentine, and embarrassed him in front of Malfoy more than once, he still went and saved her from that dirty great snake!"

"She wouldn't have been taken by You-Know-Who if it hadn't been for Harry."

"Actually, that was Dad's fault."

Arthur glared at him, livid. "How do you get that?"

"'Cause stupid Lucius Malfoy was after you, so he gave the Diary to Ginny in the first place. Where've you two been all these years?"

"Apparently somewhere where we missed what was going on," said Molly furiously. "You wouldn't have gone through any of these things if it weren't for Harry Potter. How about the fact that his godfather broke your leg?"

"Yeah, because you let me keep a pet rat that turned out to be a REAL rat!" he shouted. Ron stood up and started waving his arms. "You remember? A Death Eater animagus lived in our house for 12 years!"

"Sit down, Ron," said his father calmly.

"He saved your life!" Ron shouted at Arthur, and stomped across the room.

"He was POSSESSED by the Dark Lord!" shouted his mother.

"So was Ginny!" said Ron.

"That's not the point!"

"There ISN'T a point. You know my mum? She's the most understanding, kind, forgiving woman in the world. She was just saying that she didn't think Fleur and Bill should rush into things. She wouldn't have a tantrum about me nearly getting eaten by spiders, so there's no way she'd get mad at Harry and Ginny breaking up over something that nobody could help except Dumbledore who, incidentally, is DEAD!"

"Ronald, I can see I've gone completely wrong with you," said Molly. "I'm taking you out of Hogwarts, I'll send you to Durmstrang where you can learn something valuable. With any luck, you'll find a way out of Harry's shadow."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, sure, maybe I'll become the next Voldemort!"

"Don't say the name!" his parents both shouted.

Ron sat down and sulked. "I can send you to a muggle school," suggested his father. "You can learn all about escapators, and heir contentioning, and rubber ducks."

"Rubber ducks!" said Ron. "When've you wanted to know about a rubber anything?"

His father glared daggers at him, while his mother sat there looking confused. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, you will be leaving Hogwarts and going to a different school. You will stay in the house all summer, and you will not see Harry Potter again."

"As Hermione would say: 'For the record, I am 17. That means I am of age.'"

"Not in the muggle world," said Molly.

"Since when has anything that happened in the muggle world mattered to wizards?"

"Since later on this afternoon when I get the minister who doesn't like me to change the law as a favour to me," said Arthur.

"Well, Harry isn't going back to Hogwarts, and I'm going wherever Harry is."

"The only place you're going is to your room!"

"I'd sooner become a Death Eater."

"Well, you are a Pure Blood," said Arthur.

"Right," said Ron. "You're both barking nutters. I'm off."

And, with that, he accio'd his truck, and headed out the front door of the Burrow, wondering when the spell or whatever would wear off his parents. He had just reached the apparation point when he heard a small voice behind him. "Dammit, Ron, wait!"

It was Ginny. "What'dyou want?" he said.

"Apparently, I'm supposed to be a heartbroken wreck," Ginny said. "Take me with you?"

"No!" he said hotly.

"C'mon, Ron, please. At least take me to Hermione's."

"I won't," he said.

"At least until our real parents get back."

Ron looked back at the angry, arguing pair standing in the doorway of the Burrow, and down at his only sister who they were apparently claiming as the cause of a complete shift in both their personalities. He caught her arm. "Grab your trunk and I'll take you side-along. Hang on tight. Harry'd never forgive me if I lost you."

"I know," said Ginny with a grim smile. "He'd never forgive me either."


	4. Episode 3 Part 1

_A/N: The author wishes to thank Anne Walsh (**whydoyouneedtoknow**) for her contribution of this idea. Also, Sam, for his shocking suggestion. This isn't what you meant, either of you._

* * *

**Episode 3: Harry Potter Meets His Family – Part 1 August, 1994…**

Harry sat that afternoon with Ron and the Weasley twins, still relishing the impressive departure from Number 4, Privet Drive, by sipping on lemonade and watching their young sister Ginny chase butterflies with Crookshanks the cat. They would have to get ready for dinner soon, but there was time, at least at first, for anticipation of such marvelous things as strawberry ice cream, and the Quidditch World Cup, and the next letter from his godfather, Sirius Black.

Darkness abruptly descended on the lawn. Actually, it apparated in, but when Severus Snape had his great black, bat-like robes going in full flap, he could literally blot out the sky. Harry hated Snape, because Snape had worked very hard to earn Harry's hatred, and normally, when their eyes met, it was as though sparks of hate manifested themselves and flowed through suddenly charged air between them. So when Snape looked at Harry now, and the cold, malignant eyes seemed to sparkle quite a bit more than they should, it was a worrisome thing indeed.

He retreated abruptly into the house and the Weasleys and Harry looked at each other. "What was that about, then?" said George.

"Probably going to try to kill Harry again," said Ron.

"Right," agreed Fred. "Or maybe off all of Gryffindor, this time."

"Slytherins can't win the House Cup unless we're all dead."

"Probably he hoped to find us practicing Quidditch," said Ginny as she came over and sat down with them. Harry thought he smelled flowers for a moment and couldn't figure out why.

They talked for a few more moments, trying to decide whether Snape slept hanging from the ceiling or sealed in a casket, when the sound of Molly Weasley shouting split the air.

"Never thought you'd hear your name that loud, did you, mate?" said Ron.

"Blimey, Harry, what'd you do?" said Ginny.

"Good point," said Fred.

"Where's Hermione?" asked George.

Harry walked, with some trepidation, into the Weasley's den, expecting to be told that Snape was trying to pin a murder on him. As soon as he came in, Arthur directed him to a seat, and Mrs. Weasley made an almighty bustle around him, bringing him tea and a plate of biscuits, and staring nervously exactly where Harry was staring – at Snape who would not meet Harry's eyes.

Finally, the Weasleys left the room, leaving Harry Potter alone with the man who had tormented him at every opportunity since the moment the two met in Harry's first year.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter," Snape said, and his voice was not its usual haughty, cold sneer. Instead, it sounded like a wasteland, lost in a desert and no oasis in sight. Harry rather thought Mrs. Weasley should have given Snape the tea.

"I am sitting," said Harry. Then, as though Hermione was standing there prodding him, "Sir."

"Better." Snape stood, and paced the small room, filling it up with shadow. Abruptly, he rounded on Harry. "Some astonishing information has come to light, Potter… Harry."

Harry blinked owlishly at him, and refused to ask. He was already astonished – the snarky Potions Master had never used his first name, without the last before.

"Harry, I have no idea how this has happened." He stopped abruptly and stared down at the boy. "You look just like James Potter."

"He's my father," said Harry.

"No," said Snape, softly. "I am."

Harry looked at him. He tilted his head trying to see whether Snape had a lump on his head. Finally, abruptly, he stood up. "Mrs. Weasley!" he shouted. "Mrs. Weasley!" He ran out into the yard, Snape in pursuit, and flew into Molly Weasley's outstretched arms when he finally found her out by the back of the house, turning a pile of lumber into a table. "There's something wrong with Professor Snape," he said bluntly.

"Did he tell you?" said Mrs. Weasley softly.

"Yes, he did. Make him stop!"

"Oh, Harry, it'll be alright. We'll talk to Professor Dumbledore as soon as we can."

"Harry, son, we can make this work," said Snape, quietly.

"No, no, no!" shouted Harry, horrified. He had faced Voldemort, with less fear, been bitten by a basilisk with less of a feeling of sickened doom.

"We'll take him to the Quidditch Cup," said Mr. Weasley behind them, "and then we can talk with Dumbledore." Harry refused to even let go of Mrs. Weasley. This was worse than going back to the Dursleys. This was going to hell…

"I understand," said Snape. "Harry, make sure you dress warmly.

…in a hand basket. There was an abrupt sound of disapparation, and the world tilted back to its regular angle. Harry ran into the house, up the stairs to Ron's room, and locked himself in.

A huge, colorful was waiting on the window ledge, and Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were shouting, "What happened?" and "Are you alright?" at the door. He took the letter from the bird.

**"Dear Harry,"** said the note. **"I'm sorry I didn't wait for your reply, but some astonishing information has come to light about our situation, and I needed to communicate it to you immediately.**

**"I have no idea what happened, or how this came about, as I knew your mother as a sister only, much like Hermione is to you."**

Harry thought about that. He and Hermione… eeew.

**"You look just like James, but we can only imagine the advanced spellwork that must have been involved. You see, Harry, I am your father.**

**"I hope to see you soon. Love, Your (god)father, Sirius Black."**

Harry read the letter three more times through. "NOOOOOOO!"

Harry hid in Ron's room all that evening. Ginny brought him a plate and Hermione carried a glass and a bowl of ice cream for him. Ron brought a calming draught and a tea tray from his mother. Fred and George stopped in briefly with a few prank items, and, knowing Harry wasn't up for much abuse, they turned Hermione's hair pink, Ron's nose into a beak, and made Ginny's clothes change periodically to other articles of clothing. He stared at her a lot, and wondered if he could see between changes if he didn't blink.

Force of habit (his customary nobility) made him cram down that unworthy teenaged thought. "It could be worse, I suppose," he said. "Your Dad could be saying he's my father."

"Nah," said Ginny with a smile. "You're not a red head. No amount of magic would've made sense – everyone would've just said you look like Lily."

"_Finite Incantatem_," Hermione said abruptly, pointing her wand at Harry. Nothing happened. "See," she said, smugly.

"Yep," said Ron. "They're just raving nutters."

After awhile, Harry calmed down enough to sleep. His dreams were disturbed by thoughts of Snape and Sirius arguing with Aunt Petunia over who got to give him the most chores, while Mrs. Weasley looked on and stuffed a spoon in his mouth every time he opened it to ask a question. Dumbledore flapped in from somewhere, looking kind of like a cross between Fawkes the Phoenix and Hedwig the Owl, and Harry managed to shout "What does it mean?" at him. In the voice of Sir Alec Guiness, Dumbledore replied, "Trust your feelings, Harry." Harry started to run after him, but abruptly fell over a cliff to land on a thread bare carpet, in a dusty old house, looking into a fire place, and wondering if it was the fall here or the coal before him that had set his scar on fire.

_"Welcome, Harry,"_ said a soft, sibilant voice.

Harry turned to find himself face to face with an enormous snake, who was watching him with an intense, interested gaze. _"Hello,"_ he said to the snake, only it came out as a strange, hissing noise, and he knew at once that it was the snake that had spoken to him.

_"Young one, my Lord would speak to you,"_ she said.

He nodded, and another voice, high and cold, a voice that had haunted him for years, hissed at him out of the darkness. _"Harry. I did not know."_

_"Know what?"_ Harry demanded, surprised to discover that parseltongue came easily to him when someone else was already speaking it.

"When I went to kill you. I did not know that I am your father."

Harry looked up at the chair toward the source of the voice. He did not know what he was seeing, but it was too horrible to contemplate, even without the new revelation.

He woke abruptly to Mrs. Weasley shaking him. "Time to get up, dear," she said. "That must have been a strange dream.

"Yeah, it was. Everyone kept telling me they're my father."

"I'm sure Professor Snape wouldn't have said anything unless he knew."

Harry sighed. So, only part of the weirdness was a dream. He rose to head for the bathroom, his scar still burning and the invisible image of a vague Voldemort whispering about family, sibilantly in his ear.

_**To be continued…**_


	5. Episode 3 Part 2

**Episode 3: Harry Potter Meets His Family - Part 2**

* * *

They trudged to the top of Stoat's Head Hill, and all Harry could think was that he really should have gotten another hour of sleep. He watched Fred and George do their weird little twin things as they climbed the hill, conducting what was obviously a conversation entirely in hand gestures.

"Too tired to talk," confessed George after they caught Harry watching.

"Ignore them," yawned Ginny. "St. Mungo's said all twins have their own language. Theirs is just silent because they're weird."

"We're perverse," said Fred, and reached up and goosed Hermione.

"You're perverts!" she shrieked, and would probably have flown in both their faces, if it weren't for the exhausting climb and Mr. Weasley's presence.

At the top of the hill, they were met with the hailing shouts of another wizard who obviously recognized them. Everyone else was introduced in a somewhat normal fashion to the man, obviously a co-worker of Mr. Weasley's, who was called Amos Diggory. He was accompanied by his son, Cedric, a sixth year in Hufflepuff House, who had two distinctions: he was considered incredibly attractive by all the girls in any house, and he was the only Seeker ever to have beaten Harry to the Snitch.

Mr. Diggory made quite a show of examining his scar and then, in the few minutes before the sun rose and they had to catch their portkey, he took Harry aside, along with Cedric, while the Weasleys looked on in bewilderment.

"I'm your father, Harry," he said. Cedric twitched.

Harry would never be sure later if it was the weather, the ridiculously early hour, or the series of shocks he had gotten before this, because what he said wouldn't make sense to even him later on. "Yeah, I get that alot."

Mr. Diggory beamed at him. "This is Cedric, he's your brother, of course."

"Yeah, well I guess that makes sense - we play the same position in Quidditch, you know."

Mr. Diggory beamed proudly at both of them. Cedric just gaped at them, so Harry smiled at him sheepishly. "C'mon, we have to catch the portkey," he said.

When they got where they were going - sprawled out in an untidy heap on some abandoned bit of moor - Mr. Diggory tried to insist that Harry go with them, but Harry said that he had promised to go with the Weasleys and that he would catch them up later.

"I am so proud of you, son," said Mr. Diggory, and strolled off, whistling.

Cedric rounded on Harry. "What's all this then?"

"Beats me. But it'll probably go away on it's own."

"But why is my dad..."

"For the same reason Snape and my godfather both say so too, I couldn't tell you."

"Listen, Potter..."

"Cedric, you can argue with your brother later," came Mr. Diggory's voice.

Cedric, his face vaguely red, spun on his heel and stalked away.

Mr. Weasley smiled and escorted them to the door of a small Muggle cottage. At the door, an older man came out and appraised them with skeptical eyes. When the man started talking about gold coins the size of hubcaps, things had definitely taken a turn for the worst. He looked decidedly suspicious, until his eyes fell on Harry.

Harry frowned discouragingly back at him, but that did nothing to deter the old muggle in the slightest. "Harry," he said, warmly. "Son, I never thought I'd get to meet you. I doubt if anyone's ever told you, but I'm your father and..."

"Obliviate!" shouted a wizard who apparated in, wearing plus fours and the mismatched clothes typical of wizards who couldn't quite fathom the sense of muggle style. "Well that was weird," he said, as the muggle handed Arthur the change, and a map marking their campsite.

Harry sighed. "I need a nap," he said. Arthur Weasley looked at the boy's stricken features, and agreed with him entirely.

* * *

Even the sheer weirdness of his day wasn't enough to keep Harry from being as excited and thrilled as the rest of the wizard population around him as they made their way to the top box and took their seats. Lucius Malfoy glared at the rest of the Weasleys, and looked at Harry with the prideful smile Harry had seen Draco receive before. But apparently, Narcissa Malfoy's presence was enough to keep him under control, because he just sat there looking embarrassed. Harry ignored him, and let himself be introduced by Cornelius Fudge to the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

It wasn't until he was sitting back down and realized that everyone was staring at him that he realized that Fudge had introduced him as, "My son, Harry."

On the way out of the game, Ludo Bagman admitted to being his father, and Lucius drew him aside and said that he didn't think it was appropriate for his son to be consorting with the Weasleys, but if that was what Harry wanted, then Lucius would try to be understanding, since he'd only recently learned of the relationship, after all.

"Right," said Harry, "but I don't think your wife would like it, so maybe it would be best to keep it quiet."

"True, true," said Lucius, amiably. "Narcissa can be quite tempermental when she wants to be. A Black by birth, you know, and they're all a bit mad, though none are so mad as her sister. You be careful son, and I'll be sending you some presents soon."

Harry couldn't decide if it was funny or not, thinking of the looks on Draco Malfoy's face as that oversized eagle owl delivered not to Draco as usual, but to Harry.

* * *

_Late that night..._

Hermione, Ron, & Harry were waiting, quite shakily, in the clearing they had found. Fleeing from the Death Eaters who were marching through the camp had been strange. Watching a house elf run as though she were wading through treacle had been stranger. Meeting Draco Malfoy had been the strangest of all. "Father says you're to hide at once. And he says he supposes you must have her, so take the bush-head with you."

"Where is your father, Malfoy? Out there under one of the masks."

"Look, Potter, he sent me to tell you, so don't be so stupid." He put his wand away and stalked off. "Merlin, what'd'ya have to hit a Gryffindor with to make them see reason?"

This had been maybe a half hour ago. Everything was quiet, now, and they hadn't seen anyone in at least ten minutes.

A lone figure appeared, shadowed against the trees. "MORSMORDRE!"

Hermione, Ron, and Harry looked around them, trying to see who that was, trying to find out what had happened, when all at once, Hermione noticed it and shrieked - a huge green, glittering abomination was towering above the trees. Hermione was not alone, as screams that sounded like reborn terror and downright panicked hysteria erupted from various locations around them.

Then, the space around them ripped open and was abruptly filled with wizards, all pointing wands at the three of them. Harry's reflexes took himself, Ron, and Hermione to the ground with a shouted "Down" and two fiercesome grips.

The spells shot over them, then someone shouted, "Stop, that's my son!" Harry groaned.

It was Mr. Weasley. Harry silently pleaded with the ground to open up beneath him.

It took him five minutes to figure out that, even though Ron was the "son" Mr. Weasley was fussing over, every one else was fussing over "their" Harry. It took Mr. Weasley another half-hour, including investigations of both the woods and Harry's temporarily misplaced wand to convince everyone to go away and let him take Harry, Ron, and "the girl" with him back to their camp.

"Please, son, come by my office before you go back to Hogwarts," said Mr. Crouch as they walked away. "I'll have Weatherby make us some tea."

It took them a bit longer to sort everything out and get an early portkey back to Ottery St. Catchpole. As they tottered up the lane toward the wobbly house, dirty, exhausted, and quite freaked out, they were accosted by an hysterical Mrs. Weasley and, following her at a sedate pace more in keeping with his somewhat ruffled looking dignity, Albus Dumbledore.

Harry, who was completely at his wits end by now, flew at Dumbledore with a desperation he hadn't felt since he realized that he was standing in front of a basilisk of his own free will, without anything between them but air and an angry spirit to egg it on. "Professor, you have to help me. Everyone thinks they're my father."

"I don't think I'm your father, Harry," said Dumbledore, and took Harry by the arm to guide him down the lane.

"Well, that's something," said Harry as they walked away, leaving the Weasley family staring after them, and looking quite amused. "But please, help. Snape said so, and I dreamed Voldemort did, and Amos Diggory told me right in front of Cedric, and Sirius wrote me a letter, and Lucius Malfoy said he didn't think Mrs. Malfoy would approve of me, but he would send me presents, and Mr. Crouch, and Mr. Bagman both told me, and Percy Weasley almost said it, once, but I ran away before he could get it out, but there were six people I've never even heard of, including a ragged little bloke with a funny voice, and an old muggle, and a witch, too, and she was scary, because she was bigger than Hagrid, and her beard was almost as long as his. Please make it stop, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled that enigmatic smile of his, the one that would have had the Mona Lisa demanding to know what was so funny, and twinkled his blue eyes quite vividly at Harry. "It's a secret, Harry, but I'm going to confide in you. You see, you were supposed to have a power that Voldemort could not equal or trump, a power that he wouldn't, couldn't have. This is it."

"My special power is everyone thinking they're my father?" he demanded, shocked beyond words. They had reached the treeline, now, so Harry scrambled up onto a stump that left him rather tall. Dumbledore sat down on the much lower stump and began plucking blades of grass.

"I can only say," began the old wizard, with a particularly thick frond of grass between his lips, "that no one saw this particular power coming."

"What is it?" Harry demanded, and started plucking bark chips off the stump.

"Well, as long as everyone who can cause you harm, or indirect harm, believes that they love you too much to do you harm, we may be at a distinct advantage."

Harry sighed. "Fine, sir, whatever. I'm willing to do what I have to do to do the right thing, if I can. But how can everyone thinking they're my father help?"

"They can't fight you if they believe they love you. As of this moment, you've officially won the fight, for at least as long as this spell holds."

"Ok, so what do I do with all the dads?"

"Promise me you won't set them on each other?" Harry nodded briefly. Dumbledore smiled with this assessment, stood, and lifted Harry down. For an old wizard, ancient even, his arms were surprisingly strong, and his embrace was a warm and tender thing, something Harry would be willing to concede he should have done years ago.

"So how many people are likely to confess to being my father?"

"Anyone who could indirectly endanger you, I suspect, if the list included Sirius - he has always loved you, as far as I know, but has always been somewhat lax about your care. Lily turned he and James both into pillars of salt once after a meeting we had during the war. It seems they had taken it into their heads to play Quidditch with you."

"Nothing wrong with that," said Harry, with a bright smile. "What'd she get mad for?"

"You were six months old, Harry, and they were using you for the quaffle."

Harry started to laugh, and found he couldn't stop. He could just imagine - his mother doing a marvelous Mrs. Weasley impersonation, while he flew through the air, tiny and doll-like, back and forth between his father's arms and Sirius's. "Who was keeper?" Harry asked, when he could breathe.

"Fortunately for you, they had assigned Remus to that task."

Here, Harry laughed again. He was trying to imagine the panicked look on Lupin's face as a giggling baby Harry came soaring toward him.

"It's good to hear you laughing again, son," said Dumbledore.

Harry rounded on him, "You said you weren't affected, sir," he pleaded.

"I don't think I'm your father, Harry." The world turned strange around them, abruptly. All the trees turned purple, and the grass took on a sparkling azure hue. The old wizard's loud robes grew abruptly louder, until they were a decidedly cruel shade of pink. "I'm your mother."

Harry screamed, and jumped backward in shock. He opened his eyes to find himself sitting in his bed in the smallest bedroom at Number Four, Privet Dr. Gasping desperately for air, he looked around at the familiar things in his room, amazed to discover that there WAS a circumstance that would make him glad to find himself at the Dursley's house.

There was the sound of creaking floorboards from the hallway, and Harry turned toward the door, bracing himself to duck if he needed to do to prevent his horrible uncle from noticing him. His door opened slowly, and the hall light fell across the bed. Harry hastily pulled up the covers and pretended to be asleep. All at once, a voice sounded from the blackness, a voice that normally shouted and called him boy, a voice that demanded every morning that he cut his hair, and suggested that he was abnormal in ever fiber of his being. "Harry?" said the voice of Uncle Vernon Dursley, "Son? Are you alright?"

The world exploded.


	6. Episode 4

Episode 4: The Crushing of the Crush

"Hi!" said the astoundingly beautiful young girl who, despite having claimed to be only fifteen, already had the body of a full grown adult woman, including a 25 year old's face.

Her limpid purple eyes sparkled a sweet, luminous plum as she turned her transcendent gaze upon each of the Gryffindors in her new tower home. She was incredibly smart, and loyal to the death, and she had a streak of naughty cunning to go with her practically royal, perfectly pure blood, but she had been brave enough to deal with her dark and terrible past and remain lovely throughout, and so she was a Gryffindor.

No one said anything to her. She was rather delighted to see them staring at her in such wonder, even if they did have such strange expressions. "I'm an exchange student from America. I'm part Japanese, part Chinese, and part Indian, and also part Italian, part Irish, and part German."

"Yeah, she looks Indian," muttered another girl, who looked somewhat pretty herself, but with the dark olive skin of an oriental woman. The American smiled sweetly at her, feeling sorry that this poor girl had only natural beauty to rely on.

"My name is Aurora Majestica Fantasia Desiree Dawn-Flower Potempkin Dumbledore Wizengard Riddle. You can call me Starr."

A plain, willowy girl with really big hair rolled her eyes, so Starr turned an icy smile on her. "Who are you?"

"Hermione Jane Granger," said Hermione. "You can call me Hermione."

"What? Did no one give you a proper nickname with a name like that?" said Starr, astonished. She flipped her water-smooth, natural pale rose hair over her shoulder and smiled with sweet innocence.

"No, they respect me too much to call me daft names that aren't mine."

"Oh," said Starr, knowingly. "I've heard about you of course," she continued. "You're the Brightest British Witch of the Age."

"Technically," corrected a very tall, handsome red-haired boy who was watching all this with a wry, amused expression on his freckle-spangled face, "she's the brightest Witch anywhere."

"Oh, no, not quite," said Starr. "Because I'm actually a little brighter." She made a cute little moue and glittered at the boy. "I made Polyjuice Potion in my first year, and I knew all third year spells going into our school. Plus, I know everything without ever having to read a book, because everyone knows it's not attractive to actually study."

"Ohhh," said the boy, and he smiled quite knowingly down at the bushy haired witch.

"So, how did you get here?" asked a red-haired girl, who looked rather similar to the red-haired boy. She had very sad eyes, which Starr thought was a delightful effect, one that she would have to cultivate herself. Maybe if she thought harder about her tragic past.

"I have a tragic past," she said. "It's a secret, and I shall not share it with anyone!"

"Yeah. Well, we can't tell you believe you're related to the Head Master. And Voldemort." The red haired girl smirked as she said this, almost as if she thought she knew the true horror of Voldemort.

Bravely, Starr forced herself not to flinch. Instead, she burst into great sobbing tears. "He's my FATHER," she wailed, as devastated as one suddenly surrounded by concern can possibly be.

"Oh," said Ginny. Because Starr was also a little bit of a seer, she had finally Seen who the red-haired girl was. Meanwhile, Harry patted her shoulder awkwardly. She sniffled twice, then threw herself into his startled arms.

"Oh, Harry, you understand. I knew you would."

Ginny glared at her, and Harry turned her a little so that Ron could help support her. "Ron, I know how you'll feel about it," she said. "But it's not really meant to be. Harry is the true love of my life, and I belong with him. Professor Dumbledore just told me the truth."

"Erm," said Hermione, "he's dead. You know that, right?" She was clutching helplessly at Ron's arm, and poking at Starr with her finger.

"I know. But he's a ghost that only I can see. He keeps me company. I'm his granddaughter, you see. I didn't know it, of course. I was raised in secret in America by a werewolf - you wouldn't know him." She stood up and accepted the less-than-gracious handkerchief Hermione offered her.

"Let me guess, Professor Lupin?"

"Yes, how do you know him?"

"Nevermind," said Harry. "So Lupin raised you in secret. Who's your mum?"

"Petunia Evans," said Starr, and decided to turn on her natural Veela power, since it was obvious that her charms weren't working as well as they should.

Harry blinked at her. "You're my cousin?" he asked her.

"I sure am. I'm about a year younger than you. Our mothers betrothed us as children, in hopes that we could heal the rift between them."

"OK, so you're the love child of my dead mother's sister and Lord Voldemort?"

"Not a love child - they were married. Daddy put her under the Imperius curse to forget about him, so she married Vernon, too."

"OK. And Dumbledore is related to this how?" Ron asked.

"He didn't know it until I came along, but Lily & Petunia are his daughters."

"With?" prompted Ginny, her eyes twinkling with what Starr was sure was admiration.

"Minerva," she said.

"McGonagall?" demanded Hermione.

"No. The Greek goddess."

Now, all of their eyes were sparkling, even those of people she hadn't met yet, who were standing around her. Her seer power told her that they were thrilled and honored to meet her. "I'm a Lupa-Mouth. I can talk to wolves."

"OK," said Hermione.

"Sirius Black was actually my half-brother."

"Did not know that," said Ginny.

"Because my mother was under the Imperius Curse when I was born, I have the power not only to see into the future but to control others to make it come out the way I want to. Harry and I will marry and have 12 children. He will become Minister of Magic."

"You know, I just had the strangest sense of deja vu," said Ron.

"I am a trained fighter by the US Army - I'm the youngest they've ever trained - but I got in."

"Imagine," said Harry with an open, gentle smile.

"Ron and I will make a great team when we're both aurors, but he will be killed trying to save my life after I break up with him to date Harry instead."

Ginny suddenly became terrifying. She rose to her full height and her eyes started to blaze with some fathomless power. "I notice," she said, in a cold, dangerous voice, "that you're wearing a 50-Cent shirt and carrying a Big & Rich signed purse."

"Yes," said Starr, uncertainly. "I was going to be a famous singer when I grew up, but then Auntie Nym and Uncle Remmy explained to me that I'm a witch, and I know my enormous power will have to be exhausted to win this war. There was a prophecy, you see, and I have to become the answer to a Riddle, so that my Daddy doesn't stay evil."

"Hermione," said Ginny, "get the Book."

Hermione nodded. "I think I almost left this one too late." She raced up the stairs two at a time. Starr frowned. This wasn't going well at all. They were supposed to be riveted by her story of greatness and tragedy. She tried one more fact, then, to ensure that they admired and respected her. "I'm an ani-meta-mani-morphi-multi-magus. I can turn into a lion, a wolf, and a snake, a man, a goat, and also a flowering shrub."

"Can you do tricks?" asked Ron.

Hermione returned, lugging a large, curvy tome, the size of a paving slab. It was pink and purple and sparkly, and it giggled fetchingly when flirted with.

"What is THAT?" demanded Starr.

"It's a book," she said. "It's called the _Mary Sue Book of Mary Sues_."

"What's a Mary Sue?" asked Starr, completely baffled.

Hermione ignored her and opened the book. "Step 1," she read aloud, "Identify the Sue."

"How identify her?" asked Ginny.

"Yeah, do we have to rattle off all her four hundred names or something?" asked Harry.

"Armani Magnetic Fantastic Dumb-Flower Pumpkin-Seed Dumbledore Wizard-wanna-be Dark Lord's Daughter Riddle," said Ron.

"_Aurora Majestica Fantasia Desiree Dawn-Flower Potempkin Dumbledore Wizengard Riddle_," said Starr, crossly.

"Kinda," said Hermione, repressively. "We have to identify her connections. I think we've got that. She's connected to Harry because she wants to be his paramour; she's connected to Dumbledore, to Voldemort, to the Founders by way of Voldemort, and to Sirius & Professor Lupin. Is that everybody?"

"Think so," said Ron, noncommittally.

"And then we have to identify her powers." Hermione looked nervously at the boys and started tapping out a complicated wand pattern on the book.

"What, like she talks to trees?"

"WOLVES!" Starr snapped. "I talk to wolves. I can BECOME a shrub."

"More deja vu, here," said Ron.

"Ok, so I think we've got her to identify her powers. Unless you can execute a dazzling two-button dash attack or something?" asked Hermione. No one understood her, although Harry thought it sounded like something Dudley would talk about with his mates over the Playstation.

"Guess not," continued Hermione. "Good. Now we have to identify her type."

"Type?" demanded Ginny. "These things come in brands? Ugh, how hideous."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Starr said haughtily and made to turn on her heels to leave. She was quite blown off of them when three people in the room moved to stop her with their wands, and they all hit her with something at once. As she landed on the nearby sofa, and was bounced to the floor with a crash that made no one wince except herself. She said, "I could have stopped you if I'd wanted to!"

"Ok, I know that was deja vu," said Ron. "Lockhart wasn't it? Or Sir Cadogan?"

"Both, I think," agreed Harry. "And maybe Fudge, too."

"Right, but Hermione, what were you saying, while we've got her pinned? I don't want her to spread."

"Good point," said Hermione. "Ok, she can be **'Bad Cross-over Sue.'**"

"No," disagreed Ginny. "She hasn't claimed to be a vampire, or got an elf name in there anywhere."

"Speak for yourself," said Ron. "When I get a House Elf, I'm naming it Potempkin."

Even Hermione laughed at this, though she later swore that it was the look on the Sue's face, and nothing whatever to do with imaging the dignified little elf who had such a haughty name.

"Not that kind of Elf," said Ginny. "But she's not spouting any catch phrases from American serials, either, so I expect we can let that pass."

"Right. So the next type is **'Anime'**."

"Well, she is part Japanese," said Harry.

"She's got no more Japanese in her than I have," said the red-haired Ron.

"Right, and besides her eyes aren't huge," Ginny said, gesturing vaguely to the glittering purple of Starr's glorious orbs, which were gradually fading to lilac to reflect her bewildered mood.

"Are you saying that's Luna's excuse?" Harry demanded.

Ginny grinned. "You wouldn't believe Luna's excuse if I told you," she said.

"Going on from there," Hermione interrupted, "I think we can leave out the **'Greater Evil'** and **'Higher Good'** models."

Starr was seething. "I AM a higher good. I was born from a goddess. I'm a goddess myself! Bow to me, you simple mortals!"

"I dunno," said Harry. "She definitely takes after her dad, there."

"Still, there's another option, and I think that's what she is." Hermione looked unsettled but determined. The others waited, but she couldn't seem to get it out.

"What?" they finally demanded.

"She's an **'Author Insertion'**."

They all screamed.

"Hang on," said Ron, "what the ruddy hell is an **'Author Insertion'**?"

"Hermione's right, Ron," said Ginny. "It makes sense. She's one of those characters that someone creates because they have really low self-esteem. She's supposed to be the perfect version of themselves, but she doesn't work because she's such a bad joke, and she's nothing like them, anyway."

"She's flat and got no depth, and she indicates how very little the author understands about how people really are," continued Hermione.

"But usually her kind come from really young or really bad writers," protested Ron.

"Exactly," agreed Harry. "And they won't learn because they won't listen to people who know what they're talking about. What do we do about her?"

"Step two:" Hermione read, "Reassert her reality."

"How do we do that?" asked Ron.

"Well, first of all, she doesn't have rose colored hair," said Ginny. "No one does, you can't even get that color out of a bottle or a spell. I expect it's probably a dishwater blonde that would be quite pretty if she'd just wash it with a blonding shampoo."

The hair faded to a dark, patchy blonde that had obviously been dyed, permed badly, and treated ineffectually for frizz.

"Second of all, she doesn't actually know an awful lot. Minerva was a Roman goddess, not a Greek one, and the US Army doesn't train fighters, they train military personnel to become soldiers."

Some indefinable thing faded about Starr's perfect, grown-up face.

"And if she knew anything at all, she'd know that Tom Riddle doesn't have any off-spring, thank Merlin, and if he did they could only be two years younger than me if they were born from some unlikely little sod like that freak, Bellatrix. Certainly they couldn't be Aunt Petunia's, Dudley's older than me. My mum was muggle-born, Dumbledore said that there are absolutely no survivors of the 'Gaunt' family, and good riddance there, too."

"I was pretending that didn't happen," said Starr.

"Do it somewhere else," said Harry. "Sirius isn't related to Voldemort or my mum, though I suppose he probably was related to my dad pretty distantly. It's 1997, not 2005, Remus was here in my third, fifth, and sixth years, so he wasn't in America raising you, no one can turn into a goat and a wolf and a shrubbery, and wizards marrying their first cousins all the time lead to filthy self-righteous little spawn like Draco Malfoy, so I think I'll pass."

"Besides," said Ginny, "he broke up with me to protect me."

"I can protect myself," said Starr. "I'm a powerful witch."

Ginny hit her with a bat-bogey hex. "So am I, you dizzy cow. Do you think he doesn't know that?" She smiled warmly at him while she watched the great bogeys flap around Starr's face.

"Believe me," said Harry, "if I could see any way clear, I'd be with Ginny every day for the rest of my life, but for now, she's the one I can't protect, and I have to do what I can. If I were with anyone else, well why would I be?"

"Not a nice suggestion at all, mate," said Ron. "I'm stupid about girls, and you're a tragic hero, but neither of us is that shallow."

Hermione looked for a moment as if she might want to debate that, so Ron amended his statement with a hasty, "Any more," that both of them accepted.

"Most of her clothes disappeared," said Ginny, frantically. "She's... oh, that's alright."

"What?" said Ron. He had been too busy watching Hermione to watch the Sue. "She's just wearing school robes."

"Right. Because we're witches and wizards and we wear robes. They're comfortable, and we like them, and we don't want to wear muggle get-up most of the time. Most of us can't do it right, and those of us who can when we're kids do it so rarely after that that we forget what we should wear. Wizards wear wizard robes. End of conversation."

"Ok, Ginny, we get it," said Hermione. "I see all her wrong century stuff went away with the muggle clothes. Get rid of the alien eyes. No one really wants purple eyes, no matter what the commercial tells you."

"Oh, and get rid of Dumbledore's ghost. After all, he said himself that 'Death is the next great adventure' and people who believe that don't end up as ghosts, according to Nick."

"Couple more things the book says," Hermione told them, checking carefully before turning the page. "It says she also thinks she's a pureblood, somehow, and that that's special for some reason."

"Um... why? I can't actually think of anything being a pureblood gets you," said Ron. "Can you, Ginny?"

"Well, you can get called a 'Blood-traitor' for being nice to people. That's about it."

"Yeah, so there's no damn point," said Ron. "It certainly doesn't make you important to anyone who's important."

"Ok," said Hermione. "And it says she's part veela."

"Right," said all the guys in the room, at once, in the most sarcastic voices they could manage. Under the circumstances, that was an awful lot.

A huge cloud of magic spun over Starr's head and settled over her. She shrieked and screamed, and the cloud blew, abruptly, away, leaving a plain but pretty young girl lying there, with soft brown eyes, and a proper 12 year old's face.

"Ok, we've almost done it. Now for the last bit. Get rid of the Sue."

"Fine," said Harry, "how do we do that?"

"Well, why would an American come to a boarding school in Britian?"

A second cloud of magic abruptly formed. It absorbed their surroundings in a spinning, white cocoon.

"And she's too afraid to be herself in her real world, so she's too afraid to be in Gryffindor." The cloud tightened its grip down to absorb their Sue and her sofa explicitly, drawing her away, out of the world she didn't belong in.

"Also, if this is supposed to be our seventh year, we're not supposed to be here, either," said Harry.

The cloud expanded and caught them too.

"Of course, where ever you're supposed to be, I'm probably not going to be with you, because there's no way Harry's let me if he thought he could stop me," said Ginny. She vanished into the mist.

The cloud coalesced, and a sound like a crazed banshee rose through the storm, gradually climbing in pitch until, one by one, the trio collapsed.

They came to in a run down old house that just happened to belong, against his better wishes, to Harry. "What the hell happened?" demanded Ron as he struggled to his feet, dragging the smaller boy up with him.

Hermione was already standing, her face in "The Mary-Sue Book of Mary-Sues," checking the details.

"We got rid of the Sue," Harry said. "I think we've reasserted canon."

"Damn," said Hermione, abruptly, and closed the book with an annoyed snap.

"Or maybe not," said Ron. "Hermione doesn't swear."

"I do when we've messed up this badly," she said. "We forgot someone when we were connecting the Sue."

"Oh?" said Harry, looking around and drawing his wand to fend off the purple-eyed monster.

"Right, we forgot to connect her to Snape," said Hermione. "We have to connect every Sue to Snape, because no one even knows what his role is, except to be suspicious and not to be trusted. Oh, damn."

There was a malicious, insane giggle from the darkness around them. "That's right, you did. I'll be back. You hear me, I'll come back, more beautiful and terrible than the last time, I'll get you, I'll get you all! Harry will be my love and Ron will be my dead lover, and Hermione will be my best friend, whether you like it or not. I shall be great, you hear me! Great!"

As a group, they all yelled "Bugger off!"


	7. Dark Destiny

Author's Note: The Azkaban Plothole is going under ita different file by that title - look for it, if you can stand it. Those things got well out of hand, I think.

_This chapter is dedicated to BeachBum & greyniffler over at New Clues 6 for their stoic agreement. If it comes down to eating hats on June 21st, at least we won't dine alone._

* * *

**Episode 5: Dark Destiny**

Severus Snape was not a nice man. He was petty, opinionated, and utterly convinced of his own superiority. He felt very little more than contempt for the majority of his fellow man, and reserved particular, meticulous loathing for those smaller, frailer, and weaker than himself. There was no fragile artist trapped at the center of his tortured soul, no darkly angelic Lord Byron dreaming regretful of when the war - and the facade with it - at last must end. No delicate, unseen beauty lay mysterious and anticipatory behind his great hooked prow of a nose. In the smallest corners of his most secret heart of hearts, he still, generally, hated everything.

He moved like a great, sweeping bat, taking what little joy there was to be had in the dashed hopes of the children around him, and skulked in the quietest, darkest places because he liked to do. His eyes were black as coal dark tunnels, and as judgmental as a hangman's noose. His lax personal hygiene left his hair and teeth filthy and his skin was the jaundiced, sallow color of those unwholesome things that crept about in shadow.

As a professor, he treated members of his own Slytherin House to a grand farce of praise and vindication. His scarcely veiled despite fell to Ravenclaw, his casual, indifferent disgust to Hufflepuff. He reserved his most glaring revulsion for members of Gryffindor House, and cherished actively a fury that defied comprehension for certain of its membership.

He was a bitter man, angry, arrogant, and mean and, on the whole, that was the way he preferred it.

He also preferred to have his own way and that was why, on the morning when this story starts, he could be found stalking toward an unsuspecting gargoyle on the seventh floor, seeking his employer whom he usually treated to a respectful, if grudging admiration.

"He's busy," said the gargoyle, smugly.

"I haven't time for this, I must see the Headmaster immediately."

"Password?" the stone nuisance inquired sweetly,

Snape spat the word as though it was a particularly nasty taste in his mouth, which, it being a muggle sweet, probably would have been.

"At the risk of sounding cliché," said the guardian, shuffling with deliberate slowness away from the spiral staircase, "you'll be sorry."

"I am never sorry," snapped Snape as he finally clicked past the offensive statue and billowed his way up the stairs, two at a time.

The gargoyle returned to its place and its frozen pose, although someone particularly familiar with it might have thought it was grinning rather more than usual.

Snape sneered at the pun at the top of the stairs, and decided not to knock on Dumbledore's ridiculous joke. _A griffin door_, he thought in disgust.

He swept the door out of his way and loomed through the opening, glowering into the round office full of eccentric bobbles and an eccentric wizard. It was also, he discovered immediately, full of an alarming number of people, many of them quite oddly dressed.

"I would, of course, be perfect for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job," said the dark, silky voice of a slender, elegant man who graced a conjured black wing-back chair. Dumbledore was enthroned in his own golden armchair across the desk from the over-pretty stranger, smiling with his customary twinkle.

There was no time for certainty and no room for even the usual pretense of politesse. This interloper, this fair-faced twit, was going to steal his rightful place once again. "I really must protest, Headmaster," he snapped. "What does this man have that I do not?"

The stranger – the whole room full of strangers – turned and faced him. Snape felt his pitch black eyes go wide, and a wave of horror very nearly overwhelmed him.

"Why, nothing, my dear fellow," said the elegant stranger with the rather large nose.

"Severus," said Dumbledore sternly, "I was not expecting you today."

"But…" Snape began. He stopped, for his voice had come out sounding rather too much like Peter Pettigrew's – in rodent form. He cleared his throat. "But, Headmaster," he began again, "I know you can't find anyone else for the Dark Arts job this year!" _I showed them all my Dark Mark_, he thought to himself.

"I am aware of that, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly. "I am also aware of the measures you took to insure this." There was no accusation in the voice or the eyes, just a profound, disturbing sense of extreme disappointment. "I shall hire Severus Snape to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, despite my misgivings."

"Then who in the name of Merlin's aunt Matilda are all these people?"

"Severus Snape, old man," said the bright-eyed dandy who now flourished a silk handkerchief and stretched forth his delicately manicured, lily-white hand.

"No, no, my friend," said another voice, perky and cheerful, "I am Severus Snape."

Snape himself staggered. He looked from one to the other, then at the rest of the crowd. "Sweet Slytherin _singing_," he whispered desperately. "They're all Severus Snape."

"Not me," said a rich alto voice in the back. Snape's head shot around and he gaped unabashedly at the woman. Her nose was quite hawk-like, but delicate, her features rounded but quite severe. She wore black robes, as did so many of the men present, but hers revealed an impressively curvy physique. "Severna Snape," she introduced herself. "I changed my name after the potions accident."

Snape rounded on the twinkle-eyed wizard behind the desk. "What is going on here?"

"It's simple," said Dumbledore with his ever-gentle smile. It made Snape want to throw things. "The author was writing an alternative sixth-year and made some interesting assumptions."

"Author? Assumptions?"

"Assumption one being that I know everything."

"You can't know everything," Snape muttered weakly. "I'm an Occlumens."

"Perhaps, but I still know that early next week, you are to have an unexpected visitor who will talk you in to agreeing to something. That something will be fatal, for me."

"Oh," said Snape, in a very, very small voice, feeling rather as he had the time McGonagall hauled him into this very office after he had spiked James Potter's morning eggs with a laxative potion. Potter had turned out allergic and very nearly died. It had not been pleasant.

"Now, many would like to assume that I would be willing to give my life for yours. I assure you, Severus, that this is absolutely true. But I would NOT be willing to give my life so that you could run for yours, dragging an innocent child into precisely the kind of hell my sacrifice was meant to spare both of you. Nor do I feel that the best interests of the wizarding world could be served in any way by my untimely death at your hands. You understand, I'm sure, that the risk would be far too great to allow young Harry to pursue the future on his own?"

"Oh, er... right," said Snape. He knew one thing that no other Death Eater knew - that it was indeed possible to kill the Dark Lord. He fully expected Potter to trip on his shoe laces and knock the Dark Lord down a flight of stairs, or something similarly lucky and stupid, but he knew Potter could do it. "So, what are these people doing here?"

"I have decided to replace you with an alternative Snape."

"A... WHAT?" Snape thundered. "You've had too many sherbet lemons, you doddering old fool! These... _people_... aren't me!"

"Not precisely. This is Severus Sebastian Snape, an elegant fop who pretends to be a greasy bat with the aid of potions." He gestured at the seated Snape before him. Then, he pointed to a Snape in the corner whose eyes twinkled merrily and who looked rather too much like Sirius Black for the real Snape's comfort. "And this is Severus Alexander Snape, who was converted to a kinder, gentler Snape by being drawn into a prank war with Miss Granger."

He pointed out various Snapes as he introduced them. There was always some subtle difference about them - longer hair, different colored eyes, an alarming resemblance to the Muggle actor Alan Rickman. Shorter, taller, all these Snapes seemed similar, yet completely unlike the real Snape who stood there quaking in fury and something very, very much like terror.

"Severus Arcturus Snape, who raised, or adopted an abused young Mister Potter. Severus Samuel Snape, who is the true love of Lily Potter, or Miss Granger, or Miss Tonks, or any number of other females, including Minerva. Severus "Perseus Evans" Snape, who was the brother of the Evans girls. Severus Octavius Snape, who has a rather disturbing secret passion for Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy, Remus Lupin, or Sirius Black..."

"Now wait just one damn minute!" Snape shouted. "I am many, many strange and disturbing things but I have never ever been a pedophile, or a... a... FAIRY!"

"I rather thought homophobia beneath you, Severus," said Dumbledore, again giving off waves of disappointment.

"I'm not homophobic, I put up with Lucius!" he cried. "But honestly, Black? What's the matter with you?" He turned directly to the Snape in question, who shrugged and grinned at him. It looked horribly unnatural on that face so like his own.

Dumbledore nodded and continued his introductions. "And here's Severus Christopher Snape, a cat Animagus who was rescued and nursed back to health by one of the cast of potential mates. Severus Nigel Snape who was Lily Potter's secret lover and Harry's real father." The real Snape was foaming at the mouth now, as Dumbledore went through a list of Snapes who had been sorted into Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, Snapes who were secretly Salazar Slytherin come forward in time, Snapes who had complete personality changes as a result of Potions accidents, Snapes who were sixteen as the result of the same, Snapes who played professional Quidditch instead of teaching Potions, vampire and veela Snapes, Snapes who were secretly super heros, Snapes who danced and sang and made a mean souffle.

"But I think I'll have to go with Severna here," said Dumbledore at last. All the other Snapes groaned in disappointment, except the real one, who was pouring water from his wand onto himself in an attempt to wake himself from this nightmare and also put out the steam pouring out of his ears.

Dumbledore shook his silver head at them all and twinkled at the thrilled looking Severna. "She'll have so many female hormones to get used to, she won't be up to causing much trouble for anyone and, if all else fails, she can seduce Voldemort, I suppose."

That was it, the last knut on the pile. Snape's mind snapped loose from it's housing and he started to scream and gibber incoherently.

"But Albus," said one of the other Snapes, "where will he go, what will he do?"

"Frankly my dear," said Dumbledore, "I don't..."

* * *

Severus Snape woke with a start and found himself in his own musty bed, in his wretched little house at Spinner's End. He resolved then and there that, if and when his visitors turned up, he would stun them all and drag them off to Dumbledore, and Half Blood Princes be damned.

There was a knock at the door. "Answer it, Wormtail," he shouted in a quavery voice, and rose shakily to greet his guest.

The Dark Lord grinned at him devilishly. "Hello, Severus," he said in a deep, husky voice. "Tell me, is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

And Severus Snape was carried to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Ailments where he spent the rest of his days trading snarky barbs with Gilderoy Lockhart and coloring bright pictures of strangely clad versions of himself dying in every manner possible.

Upon hearing this, the gargoyle in front of Dumbledore's office was heard to remark, "I told him he'd be sorry." No one was ever sure what that meant.


End file.
